


something we don't talk about

by milkvan



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:09:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8565292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkvan/pseuds/milkvan
Summary: seungkwan asks wonwoo two questions and suddenly, everything breaks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by "律政強人"
> 
> i'm not proud of this tbh. also.. i know nothing about the legal system in korea so let's just pretend that it uses the same legal system as hong kong and that i know what i'm talking about here (i don't)

“ _Nicely handled. Don’t worry, the next meeting will be better. See you tomorrow._ ” 

The black characters had initially swayed and whirled in front of Seungkwan’s squinting eyes but after a minute of intense glaring at the phone, he is finally able to pin down a rough meaning of Jongdae’s text. 

Winding down the window of the moving vehicle, he wishes he has enough pluck to fling the device out and leaves his battered thoughts at the side of the streets. Instead, he roughly stuffs it into the front pocket of his bag with whatever dignity he has remaining, and a laugh so hollow and echoing in the car that Mingyu risks a concerned glance at him.

“Yah, keep your eyes on the road.” He still has the decency to reprimand because he’s a responsible lawyer, even if he isn’t a capable one. But the rebuke is muffled against the door of the glove compartment, and so, loses all bite that a Boo-Seungkwan admonishment is originally armed with. 

The driver next to him has the audacity to chuckle and pat his shoulder in an attempt of friendly comfort when they stop at a red light but it’s okay, the other had seen him naked, seen his face covered with snot and seen him get into many messy relationships over the years. 

He knows of all people, Mingyu is the one person he doesn’t need to face with the pretence of an intact dignity. 

 

 

It takes approximately five steps from the elevator to their apartment. Seungkwan knows that full well because on the very first day he moved in, he had excitedly counted every step his boyfriend led him from the car to the apartment’s door.

Maybe it’s the alcohol tipping the world against him, or the bitterness swirling in his chest, but the house key is a heavy burden he carries in his quivering hand. His head thuds softly against the door, weariness seeping into his muscles and bones and though he longs for the safety of arms to sink into, the thought of returning home no longer brings any sort of comfort to him. 

Why should it, when the person waiting for him at home now is a reminder of battles waged in the courtrooms, of misleading words and money forged as weapons. Who fights in the name of justice and who wields sharp swords of deceit for selfish motives, he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore.

It’s a wonder how he manages to let himself into the apartment, despite extremely unhelpful fingers and legs that feel stuffed with more cotton buds than actual muscles. Through the alcohol’s fogginess that has his head wrapped up in, he notices the dim orange orbs of light casted on the dining table and his heart drops at the sight of the various packets of food, still sitting out in the cold. 

“You’re back.” Long fingers accompany the deep voice, brushing away the fringe hanging down over his eyelids while his gaze lowers to the ground. 

No, Boo Seungkwan is not stupid enough to picture the soft curls of damp fringe fresh from the shower, the dews of water clinging to eyelashes, and _certainly_ not the gentle crescent of a fond smile, still as earnest and devastating as the first time they met on a rainy day outside Seoul High Court. But in the closeness between them, the coconut-musk scene of Wonwoo’s soap is overpowering and alluring, and though warning alarms blare frantically in Seungkwan’s head, he’s unable to move away from the headiness of body warmth so familiar, so close and so inviting to his aching body. 

(The heart is a foolish thing, prone to fall at the slightest touch or word. It is after all, a muscle the size of a useless balled-up fist he keeps at each of his sides – one for his indignation, one for his resolve, and both rendered pointless in the face of Jeon Wonwoo’s tenderness towards him.) 

“Are you hungry? I can heat up some food if you are.” The growl from Seungkwan’s stomach is an answer loud enough to amuse Wonwoo, and a lesson learned that the tiny bowls of mixed nuts provided in the pub aren’t always a sufficient substitute for dinner. Wonwoo’s amusement only lasts a few seconds before a second rumble sounds out in the air between them, quieter and muffled through cashmere sweater but also magnified in the way he bites his lower lip and in the sheepish grin worming its way to his face.

Seungkwan can’t help the frown pinching his brows together and the disapproval bristling in his voice. “You haven’t eaten dinner? Hyung, you know what the doctor said about skipping meals. And coffee.” _And a million of things you shouldn’t do but still do anyway_ , those unsaid words are left like carrion birds beating their awful wings and circling the red puddle of concern and guilt (mostly the latter) pooling at the base of his guts. 

“I wasn’t hungry then so I thought I’ll wait for you to come home to have dinner together.” With a chuckle, Wonwoo smoothens the frown lines ploughed deep on Seungkwan’s forehead before pressing a gentle kiss on the bridge of the younger one’s nose. “It’s nice that my boyfriend is worried about me and even though it’s really difficult for me to do so, I’m actually cutting down on my coffee intake these day. I love you, stop worrying your pretty little head about me.” 

It’s infuriating because Wonwoo is wearing a _terribly_ sincere smile now, with tenderness glazing black irises and everything Seungkwan can never resist embedded in the palms laid on his cheeks. It’s maddening because he has nothing more to say, especially knowing the truth in the other’s words; the tea stains left at the bottom of Wonwoo’s red mug in the morning and the rose buds steeped in hot water in the late hours of the night are evidence enough to clear the older one of all charges. 

As lawyers, they can only arm themselves with the double-edged sword of every heavy-loaded word spilled out in the wars they each stand behind different lines. In the gap of his silence in front of Wonwoo’s confession, Seungkwan can only admit to himself that he is guilty as charged – for not being understanding enough, for not realizing how difficult it must have been for the older one to go without the daily fix of coffee, while handling the huge workload and responsibilities of a senior partner in a large law firm. 

A quick peck on his lips and the sudden loss of warmth around his frame pull him out of his thoughts, and he is left standing alone in the living room while Wonwoo is already in the kitchen, hands busily unpacking and placing the food into the microwave oven. 

“I bought your favourite kimbap and tteokbokki from the ahjumma down the corner from your office.” The older one calls out jovially from the kitchen, as he always does when it comes to food or Seungkwan, or a combination of the two. 

(“Jeon Wonwoo, brilliant solicitor and the youngest to be made senior partner in the history of Jung & Co. … To think he’s the same person who has been spoiling you rotten at home.”

Mingyu had once remarked in a stage whisper last year, while taking in the scene of secretaries and legal clerks squealing over the magazines spread out on the pantry table in front of them. Splashed out in gaudy bold font, the words “ _TOP ELIGIBLE BACHELOR_ ” accompanied Wonwoo’s stoic face peeking out from every single magazine, along with “ _exclusive_ ” write-ups and background information about the attractive solicitor, all written in varying degrees of detailedness.

The tallest one in the pantry could only shake his head dramatically and allow a theatrical sigh to escape from his heavy chest, as if playing the part of a sage who laments the ruin of his beloved country. 

Just an ordinary day of his close friend being a cynical asshole, a typical coffee break ruined by the giggle of gossipmongers, and so Seungkwan merely responded with a scowl and an extremely emphatic clink of yellow mug on metal sink. 

A year later, he concedes that maybe, there is some truth to Mingyu’s words.)

 

 

When Seungkwan first moved in, the view of the city’s nightscape mesmerized him to no end and many a night, Wonwoo would wake up to find him in the unbreakable habit of sitting near the huge glass window, with nothing but a reading lamp to throw just enough light on the mountain-pile of papers. Like countless things involving the younger one, it slowly and subtly crept over the neat boundaries in Wonwoo’s life till it became a shared habit between them, one of numerous puzzle pieces that rounded the edges of his own pieces till they fit perfectly into a complete picture. 

(The last part was actually a heartfelt confession by a very drunk Wonwoo, hours after a nasty argument threatened to end their relationship. From that night onwards, Seungkwan had gained two things in his life: 1) a beautiful blossoming friendship with a very helpful Choi Seungcheol, in which they often bonded gleefully over the misfortunes of Jeon Wonwoo and Hong Jisoo, and 2) the video of the drunk confession, still kept in a locked folder on his phone. 

_For memory’s sake_ , he justified, to which Wonwoo huffed a breath of indignance.) 

As with most nights, the lights are dimmed down low, allowing the under-lit living room to be accompanied by the diminutive illuminations from streetlights and a million similar windows. It is the only gift that a city has to offer after the sunrays have faded from the skies and to Seungkwan, a reassurance that there is always a light to lead him home. 

Except now, the tiny lights are too far away, the darkness around them feels suffocating and the fact that they can still be here sharing the same space, sitting close to one another at the same table, is a joke someone has forgotten to share the punch line to. Nothing has changed in the apartment since he left in the morning and yet, everything feels distorted and unfamiliar under a different light – Wonwoo included. 

All his life, Boo Seungkwan tries his damn hardest to be truthful to everybody; to people and most of all, to himself. It is honestly something he takes tremendous pride in but there are times he exchanges one sort of pride for another, a kind that has lesser to do with noble beliefs and a lot more to do with vanity. When Mingyu asked him if he was shaken and affected by the clash he had with his opponent earlier on in the afternoon, the monosyllabic “ _no_ ” tumbled out of his mouth so easily that he was almost fooled too. The other didn’t say or ask anything more and they left it at that as they nursed their drinks in silence, knowing that this was one of the rare times he preferred his spoken answer to the truth. 

(Jeon Wonwoo never tries his damn hardest at being truthful, nor does he appear to put much effort in forging the compelling aura that surrounds him, but somehow people always seem to find lying a highly difficult and risky thing to do in front of his presence – an effect that even Seungkwan can’t escape from.)

On hindsight, this was probably something Seungkwan should have expected from the moment he confidently accepted a legal aid case no other law firm was willing to take, especially after taking into account the identity of the adverse party. (Because who else would a rich and powerful real estate developer pay a 10-figure amount to represent them in a high-profile legal dispute?) 

It’s the kind of downfall Minseok despised, the sort of cautionary tales Seungyoon whispers to the pupils under the guise of gossip, and the type of apprehension he should have been able to read in the worry pursing Mingyu and Hansol’s lips into thin straight lines, in the concerned gazes the two constantly threw at him as they were helping him prepare for the case. All the warning signs laid out in the open for him by well-meaning friends and colleagues, he had brashly raced past them and foolishly lapped up the bait his overconfidence dangled in front of him. 

His capability as a lawyer definitely isn’t doubted here, Minseok was quick to assure him thoroughly. Everybody could attest that he worked hard in making sure he covered all grounds of the case for a ninety-percent chance of winning an out-of-court settlement in his client’s favour. 

Then that means the chink in his armour lies in the left of his chest.

It was a lot easier to pretend he wasn’t bothered by the fact that the one representing the adverse party is someone a little too _close_ for comfort, when he had Mingyu and Hansol to distract him, or even when he’s barely sitting a wall away from his opponent in the apartment, both of them working on the same case (with each of them on different sides). But in the privacy of just pupil and pupil master, he can’t deny that throughout the case, he had allowed the fact to get under his skin, like a wisp of tantalizing smoke from one of Wonwoo’s stray cigarettes tightly tied around the atriums of his heart. No one has to remind him that smoke fogs up one’s judgement and leaves the wildness of emotions unchecked. 

In the end, he had left the room with Minseok’s words of caution ringing painfully in his head. Sitting alone in the pantry, he recalled too late how it was the exact same piece of advice Minseok had articulated very clearly to him while working on their first case together.

“ _Guard your heart and leave your emotions at the door. It won’t do you well to attach feelings to both your clients and your opponents._ ”

 

 

“Why aren’t you eating? Are you okay?”

There is a raggedness to the quiet anxiety weaved into the timbre of Wonwoo’s voice and it is what catches Seungkwan from the abyss of his thoughts. Warmth spreads from the older’s palms to his forehead and cheeks, and he is left once again in the shock of whirling bewilderment (the first time this happened, they were mere acquaintances sharing an umbrella in the rain). His eyes widen but there’s a sheen of dazedness misting up his vision, so that he can only see the brown creeping around the edges of Wonwoo’s irises, intensified by concern and worry.

“You don’t look well but you don’t seem to be having a fever. Is it a cold? Should I call for Jisoo to come and take a look at you?” Wonwoo’s fingers are already closing around his phone and white teeth worries his lower lip, a gesture done so naturally that awareness of it escapes the owner most of the times. 

The sight of the other’s fierce tenderness scares Seungkwan a little, and something topples in his chest when the realization worms into the moment of clear, absurd lucidity: there is a kind of wrecking guilt lurking in Wonwoo’s eyes and the worst thing is that he doesn’t know if it should be there in the first place.

“I’m fine, stop fretting over me.” The words spill out in a rush from Seungkwan, with the hope that they will ease the strain in the air. But there’s an unintentional snap attached to the cadence of his voice, as piecing to the bones as the mire of emotions in Wonwoo’s eyes, and he regrets speaking when a devastating frost dawns on them. 

Both turn their gaze to the plates of uneaten food on the dining table. Between them, words dilute into an insignificant and spent currency, while silence is laid upon them as a luxury they suddenly can’t bear.

( _“A penny for your thoughts?”_

 _“A penny is worthless. Give me something better, like a kiss, and maybe I’ll tell you.”_ )

Long eyelashes fluttering low over elusive eyes, shoulders hunched over the table and hands tucked into the protectiveness of cashmere sweater – all these, Seungkwan spies from the corner of his eyes (too proud to stare, too hopelessly in love to look away completely). It’s a side of Wonwoo he has never perceived before, banished to the shadowy corners by sunrays and the relentless lights of the city. In the striking side-profile of the person next to him, he sees knights and heroes who saved the day just when everything was thought to be lost – heartrending in their defeat, beautiful in the way they pick themselves up and fight again.

Rising from his memory and taking its place opposite them is a phantom, its presence untouchable in every definition of the word but also forcibly felt that Seungkwan’s chest constricts painfully in the stifling air. It wears the older one’s face and slender frame, except its raven-black hair is slicked back and there’s a constant hint of a confident smirk hooked to the corner of its lips, while black irises roams, penetrates and devours. 

In places sanctified by the scales of justice, this version of Jeon Wonwoo dominates and conquers. With a crown of acute senses and quick wits fastened on his head, he is a captivating king leading his parties to victory. Red will never stain his hands, and the rivers of blood are the sort of casualties he will never bother to calculate in the wars he wins for his clients. 

No matter how long they have been together, Seungkwan will always be slightly terrified of, slightly awed by this side of the older one, like an exploding firework experienced too up close. 

(Somewhere in the kitchen is another phantom, a kinder one with silly grins and eyes bright with wonder. It wears an oversized cashmere sweater, hums under its breath and taps its foot to a rhythm only it hears in its head, as it prepares dinner for two. 

It’s the version of Wonwoo that has accompanied Seungkwan the most through the two years, who laughs and kisses him in the morning, even when their eyelids are heavy with sleepiness and his grumpiness is expressed in many lazy sighs and whines. It’s also the version he thinks of when someone asks him what he loves the most about Wonwoo – not the knight or the king, but a boy with stars in his eyes and the gentle curves of the crescent moon in his smile.)

Alongside the phantom at the table is a stormy image stirring from his memories and yanking at his heartstrings. There is no reason why it should be here, sharing the same table as them as an intruding and unwelcoming visitor, especially after Minseok’s reprimands earlier, but Seungkwan had always been a little too soft-hearted for his clients. 

It sits wordlessly but its eyes hold pools of despairing tears and the shards of crushed hopes. The lines weaved on its face deepens with every shuddering breath it takes and its small hands quiver on the surface of the table. 

He remembers how those hands gripping the mug of warm water continue to shake long after they have gone back to her house, how it took too much from him just to sit opposite her and how his own hands shook on the way back to the office, the fury at the unfairness of everything rattling him down to his core. 

“Hyung…” A first spark is all it takes to light a roaring fire and similarly, the first word out of his mouth is a rumble of thunder that keeps him going, even when Wonwoo’s attention is focused on him and a little of his courage drains away. “I know we’re not supposed to discuss our cases at home, especially one that we’re on opposing sides, but I have two questions which I really hope you will answer.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow and an unreadable expression settles on his face, a tether that is sure to keep the flurry of emotions within him tamed and controlled. But in the considerable silence brewing in the air, Seungkwan feels a sort of consent has been granted to him which allows the careful boundaries between them to be overstepped. 

And for this, he is thankful and emboldened enough to keep his gaze steady, even as the question spills out in a tendril from him and levelled eyes rises to meet his own determined ones. 

“Will you continue to represent Dongtaek Corporation in persuading Mrs Im to sell her plot of land?” 

“Seungkwan, you know my answer.” 

The reply is simple, swift and if there is any beat of hesitation present in the words, the sonorous bass of the older one’s voice masks it all; Seungkwan doesn’t know why he should expect anything less from the other. His resoluteness is faltering and he knows it, hates it even but if anything, this is the last time he would allow Jeon Wonwoo to see this side of him. And so, he takes a deep breath and continues on with the second question, his trump card of vulnerability laid out on the table, for it reveals the naivety of a boy seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses and the fatal hope of a soldier seeking camaraderie on the battlefield. 

“Do you think … winning a case is more important than justice?” 

“Yes.”

All Seungkwan can do is stare at Wonwoo who is the first to turn away and there’s a tightness to the set of the other’s jaws that either spells obstinacy or ruefulness, both of which are the very last things he wants from the older one right now. In some way, he is grateful that Wonwoo never once thought of patronizing him by lying to his face, that he doesn’t have to go to sleep on a bed of lies but the penetrating brunt of the cold, hard truth is a little too hard to bear. Everything breaks – his safety net, the cling-wrap membrane of his heart and the bricks of this house – they shatter, break and burn like bridges, in the disbelief that overcomes him after the single arrow shot of the reply. 

Most of all, the torrent of his angry words bursts through the barrier; each one of them sharp enough to pierce and wound. 

“I had hoped that your answer to the second question will be _no_ but of course, how could I have expected anything else from you, _of course_. Tell me, is this the only way I can become an outstanding lawyer? Forget the very foundation, basis and core of our legal system? In other words, _be like you_?”

Fingers curled tightly against his palms, his breaths shudder and the sound of them grate against his ears, like the rips in the brittle fabric of silence enveloping them. Anger still simmers under the surface but it’s gradually melting away, leaving only the echoes of his voice and the lacerations on the pounding organ in their chest. He doesn’t realize he is standing over the small figure next to him, till fatigue leaves its claws on his legs and he has to grip the edge of the table to steady himself. 

“I said I would ask two questions so you don’t have to answer the last few ones. … It’s late now. We should go to bed… and just pretend we never had this conversation. Good night.” There is not much else he can say, especially when exhaustion strains his voice and he feels as emptied out as a forgotten well-spring, dry and useless to anyone now. 

There’s a loud screech of a chair scrapped hurriedly across the floor, a hand clasped around his wrist that stops him from leaving, and the trapping heat of a body he is pulled close to. His gaze is fixed on the nails digging into his skin, as if looking for something he can’t offer or possibly, seeking to inflict tiny crescent marks of frustration along the blue threads running down the expanse of his wrist. From Wonwoo’s lips, he feels the syllables of his name falling, soft and burdened, unto his cheek and hears the heavy sigh that follows, hushed and catastrophic in the hollow spaces of his ears. 

Words rain down between them, slow and hesitant in the way one weighs each and every sound carefully, lingering in the way unspoken sentiments gleam just as brightly as spoken ones, treasured in the way a rare moment of truthfulness deserves. 

“It’s true that I’ve won many cases, and I admit that in majority of these cases, I feel I’ll be happier if I have lost instead. But I can’t do that, not when I have a duty to make sure that my clients get a fair hearing too. I never bothered to explain or justify what I’ve done but now … I just need you to understand where I’m coming from.”

The desperateness arched in the curve of the fingers around his wrist, the riot of insecurities in the eyes searching his for a perchance of reassurance, the frail lines etched on a face so used to being masked and guarded; these are the things that aches Seungkwan’s heart with the throbbing ardency of all its muscles. For the first time, he realizes how resolutely he clutches the so-called ideals and principles to himself, leaving no hands available to reach out and hold the man in front of him. Knight, king or boy – they are the same person he claims to love but at the end of the day, Wonwoo is always left at the other side of the battle, unwillingly reduced to being the enemy. 

It’s time for Seungkwan to stop loving the older one with mere words and deeds because what are them without the most important thing? Nothing but an exchange of tacky trinkets and insignificant souvenirs none of them ever needed.

Today is the day he starts learning to love Jeon Wonwoo with the tenacity of all of his heart, sinews and muscles. And if accepting the one he loves, despite flaws and ragged edges, into his embrace means letting go of his pride and the crowning arrogance of his unattainable ideals and principles, then so be it. 

After the glittering dust settles around them, it is washed away in the same way that spring showers wash the streets anew and rid the air of winter’s chill, so as to prepare the city for new beginnings and second chances.

He lays a palm on Wonwoo’s cheek gently, feeling his warmth soothes away the uneasy cold in the other’s skin. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve said… for being unfair to you and never taking the step to understand the things you’ve done and said. Whatever happens in our case, it won’t change the fact that I love you. … But I’ll have you know that I’ll fight back, harder, tomorrow because you’re a worthy adversary and I hope you’ll think the same of me.”

He doesn’t realize how soft his voice until he stops speaking, doesn’t realize until now that the forgiveness he was searching for is already present in the smile suddenly lighting up Wonwoo’s face, in the mix of relief and tenderness in the older one’s eyes, in the long arms snaking around his waist and holding him tightly, in the kisses that last all night until the sun rises and the rays splay generously on their tangled bodies in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry for this, especially the ending.
> 
> it's such a struggle to write seungkwan tbh. he's so passionate about a lot of things so it seems that wonwoo is just one of them and that he doesn't care much for wonwoo. ... that is true but also untrue in a way i can't explain properly.
> 
> i just. 
> 
> love wonboo so much.
> 
> please love them too, thanks.


End file.
